


Insectica

by antibanana



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Ben Solo is delusional, Dominant Kylo Ren, Entomologist Ben Solo, F/M, Gender Roles, Homophobic Language, I don't condone the actions of my characters, I will update tags as I go, Insect Behavior as a guide to romance and revenge, Insect Nerd Ben Solo, Insect kink, Inspired by Smallville episode Metamorphosis; loosely, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Strong Language, Toxic Masculinity, Vengeful Ben Solo, Violence, vengeance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 19:23:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20120386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antibanana/pseuds/antibanana
Summary: Insect enthusiast Benjamin Solo kills two birds with one stone when he finds out that his much younger object of desire is related to his childhood bully.A three-part fiction, in the theme of "Vengeance," for the Dark Reylo Anthology





	Insectica

Part 1: Veni

Benjamin Solo hadn’t always been fascinated with the insect world. In fact, he was terrified of insects. Ben learned at a very young age that insects carried diseases and venom – that they were terribly underestimated. Surely, your everyday bug spray or rolled up newspaper or gum sole shoe could obliterate them in one swift move, but Ben hardly had the skill nor bravery to do it despite his size. They were small and unsuspectingly sly, making it impossible to know exactly where they are and difficult to avoid because they were _everywhere_. Buzzing in the air, hiding in dark corners, crawling under his feet, burrowing in his sheets, larvae squirming to life in his garbage, sucking on the skin and bones of his mom’s roast at dinner.

It wasn’t until he met Poe Dameron, did he realize, that insects weren’t so bad. That these alien-looking, gross fucks were friends, not foes.

Poe Dameron appeared to be a strikingly handsome and athletically gifted young man. Within the first two weeks since he moved into town, he won the hearts of teachers, popular girls, and even his own parents. Maybe it was the way he flashed his Colgate commercial smile, or the fact that at fourteen he made varsity for throwing inflate leather across 70 yards, or maybe it was because Poe was everything Ben was not. A golden boy with an innate strong sense of duty and honor, and normal guy interests like football, YG, and joining the Air Force.

Everyone liked Poe but Ben. Ben had his reasons. He was a grade A asshole.

Ben was convinced that everyone was blinded by Poe’s charisma that they chose to ignore his misdoings. Poe had learned of Ben’s fear of insects early on after a failed partnership in Biology. Ben had a freak out after finding parasitic flatworms in their dissected frog. Perhaps Poe found Ben’s trauma entertaining. Maybe the way Ben’s eyes widen and watered delighted him, or maybe it was Ben’s responsiveness to his fears that made Poe feel so powerful and in control. Ben became a constant butt of Poe Dameron’s cleverly insensitive jokes. He often referred to Ben as “Dumbo” for his _abnormally gargantuan ears, _(which Ben had since hid behind his dark shaggy hair) and “Fagatron,” combining his femininely plump DSLs and his lanky body’s stiff way of moving around.

Poe wouldn’t leave Ben alone. In fact, Poe started becoming physical with him. Ben was _his -_ his target of cruel pranks and humiliation. Poe would pin him down on the ground in front of Poe’s wannabee cool friends and point out the crawlers nearby. The flavor of the day was a millipede, a demon with ninety-plus pair of legs. At the corner of his eye, Ben squirmed against Poe’s hard body, fighting to escape him as the millipede quickly made its way towards his face.

Panting, Ben pleaded, “Get off me! GET THE FUCK OFF ME!”

As small as the millipede seemed, he could hear its thundering steps. For some reason it was a louder the beat of his heart. He closed his eyes tightly. Aware that millipedes released a toxin, at least he won’t be blind, scarred probably –

Suddenly the pressure holding him down was released, like the lid of an airtight jar was popped off. The sound of scratching grass was followed by a thud. Ben turned over and sat up, narrowly avoiding the toxic decomposer crawling away, and faced Poe Dameron on his back. He was choking on air. Fighting for his life. His eyes were bugging out and his face was turning purple, like an invisible hand was squeezing his throat making it impossible to breathe. Teenagers were backing away and screaming for help.

Ben was panicked but he quickly recovered. He chuckled as Poe Dameron squirmed, eyes tearing up, head swiveling against the grass, and hand reaching out for help.

Poe was dying.

Ben scanned his body for the cause of it. He swatted to inspect Poe’s exposed skin, on his arms, his chest... He shoved Poe Dameron on his stomach, face on the grass, and that’s when he saw it.

Under his right ear, shy of his jugular, was a bee stinger. Squinting, he finds that the sac was still half-full, pumping venom slowly into Poe’s bloodstream.

Weakly, Ben hears Poe heave out, “Heh… Hehl…” _Help?_

Grinning, Ben extends his index finger, and cautiously hovers over the bee stinger. Finger twitching, he presses down on it firmly until the whole sac is empty. A seizure takes over Poe’s body, split glistens on the grass, and Ben’s eyes light up in wonder and delight. How amazing, that something so small can do so much damage to something bigger than itself.

An ambulance could be heard in the distance, distracting Ben from his thoughts. The nurse, Ms. Mothma arrives to the scene with an orange device and stabs Poe. Amidst her panic and the concerned looks of his peers, Ben searches the grass, walking further away from the chaos...

… And finds near the cement edge of the sidewalk, a half-limbed dead bee. Ben crouches to the ground to study it. Half-limbed as if Poe squeezed it, ripped it off and flung it here to die. Maybe it was already dead before Poe managed to do it harm? Ben wondered.

Ben convinced himself that it protected him. It cared about him. It saw him helpless and all alone, and sacrificed itself so that he’ll be safe.

Since then, Ben read about the different insects he came across. When he started, he collected bees which weren’t hard since his mother had a beautiful garden. He’d collect them using jars with holes on the lids or homemade nets out of old linens and store them in Tupperware. He learned each one of their unique behaviors, from their special skills, to hunting, to fighting, to mating… In Ben’s fascination, he learned that bees are highly intelligent, using polarized light the way a Viking uses a sun-dial to navigate and stay on course, or how their attack pattern matches those of serial killers. In defense they work together, vibrating to warn predators and increasing in identical vibration speeds to overheat and kill invaders. Ben idealized the loyalty bees had possessed, their sacrifice for their clan, and most specifically, their relationship with the queen. Honeybees take turns fucking the queen until they die, and she holds it all in like a sperm bank for future use.

Nestled in the storage shed of his mother’s house is his own new breed of bees. Encased in a double-sided plexiglass honeycomb hive are the developing larvae. Some are squirming to life.

Ben hovers a finger on the plexiglass, deep in thought, he wonders if he’d make a great dad someday. He’d be better than his own. He wouldn’t leave his queen, his wife. He’d be committed. He'd stay. He'd try to fix things. He'd fuck his queen deep, and hard, and good until she's satisfied. He'd never leave like his dad. He’d have to die first. His palms feel sticky, and that’s when he realized he fisted his hand so hard at he cut through his flesh with his nails buried into his palm.

If his parents were a shit example, the bees would not. All he needed was a queen.

And he found her. Well, more like she found him.

She was baked like a cake at a university sanctioned event. Club Rush. Ben, now nearing thirty years old, is an advisor for the Entomophily Club. Armitage, the grad student researcher and president of the club had to observe the third generation’s pollination pattern and left Ben in charge of their booth, but he could care less about his hardly visited table or the hot blistering August sun. The pretty little thing stumbled into his booth. She looks like a freshman but Ben bets – hopes – that’s just a baby face. She’s 21 at most. She’s sweating and tickled pink by the heat. Ben swears he can smell her. She smells like honey and salt and a faint smell of daisies. The brunette’s eyes were glazed and drifted from the high-resolution images of pollinators and flowers to cheap handmade figurines, she tried to make conversation.

She pointed at the word like it was moving away from her. “Hey…What are ‘_Leh-peedotera’_?” She looked so cute confused as she tried to pronounce the insect class for butterflies. It brought a smile to Ben’s face and made his chest warm.

“It’s Lepidoptera. It’s just a fancy word for insects like butterflies… and moths.” Ben’s eyes trailed down from her freckled face down to the identical slightly wet curved patches on her thin white shirt. Ben realized she’s not wearing a bra underneath and his mouth feels suddenly dry.

“That’s cool. I love butterflies.” She smiles dreamily, dimples showing.

Ben files the fun fact and her face to memory.

“Our club specializes in research and restoration of their habitats, ensuring their survival means that we help ourselves too,” Ben is proud of how calm he is even though his heart is hammering in his chest. He found her. “If you join our club, you’ll get up close and personal with our little friends, help fund and even build reservations – “

“Are these free?” She asks, eyeing the assorted fruit on the table.

“Uh yeah,” Ben nods, guiding her hand to the bowl of the blueberries, almonds, apples and avocados.

Her hand grabs an apple and she takes a bite, the juice drips out of her mouth.

“These and a few others are produced by our friends over here. Without them, we are all out of them.” Her hands are so soft, Ben is imagining them on his face, his chest, he bets it’ll feel really good on his di –

“You’re really cool, and smart. Like, wow.” She chuckles as she takes a bite of her apple, unaware of the sticky trail of nectar dripping down to her chin to her neck.

Ben clears her throat. Okay. This is enough. He can feel his cock fighting against the strain in his denims.

“What’s your name?”

“It’s Rey. Rey Dameron." Rey extends her hand for him to shake. "What’s yours?”

_ Dameron?_ A rare surname but only one person comes to mind. Ben's heart skips a beat for an entirely different reason. Desire blends with something dark within Ben. Buried rage and the ache for violence resurface, mingling with the delight and playful curiosity. Ben manages to keep calm amidst the chaos going on inside him. “I’m Ben.” 

Ben decides that it's best to leave his last name out. 

A silence falls between them. Rey, oblivious to it, looks back at the photographs then fingers the stain glass butterfly on the booth. Ben gets an idea.

“Did you know,” Ben asks in an opening volley, “Most butterflies only live for two to four weeks at most?”

Rey’s lips curve to frown. “Is that so?”

“Yes, unfortunately. But the British Mourning Cloaks are unique. They can live up to nine months. In fact, we help breed it in our campus greenhouse.” Ben gestures his thumb to a green dome two buildings down. “Did you want to see them?”


End file.
